5. Aria

5

ARIA

I light the last scented candle, and the warm vanilla smell mixes with the lavender from my earlier cleaning frenzy. It’s like my apartment’s trying to be a fancy spa, minus the cucumber water and judgy looks from the receptionist. There’s a knock on my door, and I know it’s Cayenne before I even open it. Her timing is spot-on, as always. She’s showing up after I spent the entire day nursing a hangover that’s clingier than a needy ex.

“Alright, bitches, the party has arrived! And by party, I mean wine. Lots of wine,” Cayenne declares, waving a bottle like she just won the lottery. Her fiery red hair catches the soft glow of the candles, matching her energy that could probably power a small city. The spicy cinnamon scent that always clings to her skin wafts through the air, comforting in its familiarity. When she turns to face me, her smile falters. “Oh, honey. You look like you need this more than I thought.”

I try to laugh it off, but the sound comes out more like a choked sob. Smooth, Aria. Real smooth. Before I can stop myself, I crumble faster than a cookie in milk, and Cayenne’s arms are around me in an instant. I lean into her warmth, the comfort of her embrace like a lifeline thrown to a drowning woman. Her scent envelops me, soothing my frayed nerves like a warm blanket on a cold day.

“It’s okay,” she murmurs, her voice steady and soothing. “We’ve got you. No alpha drama’s going to break this squad.”

I nod against her shoulder, trying to draw strength from her words like I’m some kind of emotional vampire. Cayenne gently guides me to the couch, her arm still wrapped protectively around me. As we settle into the cushions, she reaches for the wine bottle she set on the coffee table.

“Now, let’s open this bad boy, and you can tell me what’s really going on,” she says, her tone gentle but leaving no room for argument. It’s like being told to eat your vegetables by a really supportive drill sergeant.

I watch as she expertly uncorks the bottle, the pop echoing in the quiet apartment like a starting gun. The rich, burgundy liquid glugs into two glasses she somehow produced from thin air—or more likely from my kitchen cabinet. I swear, Cayenne could find wine glasses in a desert.

“I don’t even know where to start,” I admit, accepting the glass she offers. The wine’s aroma mingles with the candles’ scents, creating a cocoon of comfort around us. It’s like being wrapped in a hug made of fragrances. “Honestly, we better wait until the others get here.”

Cayenne takes a sip, her emerald eyes never leaving my face. I feel like I’m under a really caring, slightly tipsy microscope. “Start with why you look like you’ve been hit by a truck and smell like you bathed in bleach.”

I can’t help but let out a watery chuckle at her blunt assessment. Trust Cayenne to call a spade a spade, and then probably use it to mix cocktails. “Is it that obvious?”

“Honey, you’re many things, but subtle isn’t one of them,” she says with a wry smile. “Now spill.”

“Soon,” I reply as I sip. “Soon.” She isn’t happy I’m making her wait, but I’d rather not repeat myself again. It’s like ripping off a Band-Aid—I’d rather do it once and get it over with.

By the time Ginger and Willow arrive, I’ve managed to pull myself together, wiping away the last traces of tears. We settle into the nest of pillows and blankets I arranged in the living room, a cozy fortress of soft textures and comforting scents. It’s like we’re kids again, building a pillow fort to keep the monsters out, except now, the monsters are alpha drama and societal expectations. Each of us clutches a wine glass like it’s the key to survival, and maybe it is.

Ginger, ever the comedian, raises her glass high. “To Aria’s new digs! May the walls be sturdy and the neighbors hot!”

We laugh, and for a brief moment, it feels like any other girls’ night. The rich, earthy scent of Ginger’s perfume mingles with Willow’s light, floral aroma, creating a protective bubble around us. As the laughter fades, the concern in their eyes becomes impossible to ignore. It lingers, unspoken but palpable, like a cloud hanging over us—or like that one friend who won’t stop talking about their ex at a party.

Willow, always the most perceptive, breaks the silence first. Her voice is soft but firm. “Alright, Aria, spill it. We didn’t come armed with wine just to watch you brood in silence.”

I twirl the wine in my glass, the liquid catching the light as I try to find the right words. The fruity aroma of the wine wafts up. It’s like my emotions and my senses are having a boxing match, and I’m the referee. “I… I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning’s usually a good place,” Ginger suggests, her eyes serious.

I take a deep breath, feeling like I’m about to jump off a cliff. “Okay, here it goes. Willow, you know about the match with Pack Clarke, right?”

Willow nods, her eyes soft with concern. “I heard rumors, but I’d love to hear it from you.”

“Well, it’s true. Scent Synergy matched me with them. All of them.” I pause, waiting for the bomb to drop.

Ginger whistles low. “Damn, girl. You don’t do anything by halves, do you?”

I can’t help but let out a bitter laugh. “Trust me, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind for my love life. It’s like I’m on a roller coaster I never bought a ticket for, and the safety bar is loose.”

Cayenne leans in, her eyes fierce. “How are you feeling about it? Really?”

The words start pouring out of me like a flood. “I’m terrified. I feel like I’m losing control of my life. This mate bond… It’s confusing as hell. I didn’t ask for it, and I don’t want it, but there’s this… pull.” I run a hand through my hair, frustration evident in every movement. “And don’t even get me started on the independence thing. I’ve worked so hard to build my life and be my own person. What if this takes that away from me?”

Willow reaches out, placing a comforting hand on my knee. “Aria, a mate bond doesn’t have to mean losing yourself.”

“Doesn’t it though?” I counter, my voice cracking. “You’ve seen what happens to some omegas when they mate. It’s like they disappear into their alpha’s shadow.”

Ginger’s voice cuts through, sharp and determined. “That’s not going to happen to you. We won’t let it.”

I look around at my friends, seeing the fierce protectiveness in their eyes. It’s both comforting and overwhelming. “I just… I don’t know how to handle this. Pack Clarke are not bad guys, not really, but the way they reacted when they found out I was an omega… It hurt, and now this match… It’s like the universe is playing some sick joke on me.”

Cayenne squeezes my hand. “The universe might be a jokester, but we’re your ace in the hole. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

I nod, feeling raw and exposed, but also strangely lighter. “Thanks, guys. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Willow leans back, her expression thoughtful. “Okay, so we know the situation. Now, let’s figure out how to tackle it. You have options, Aria. More than you think.”

“I just… I feel like I’m losing control of my life,” I finish, wiping at tears I hadn’t even realized were falling. The salty scent of my distress hangs heavily in the air, a bitter counterpoint to the comforting aromas of candles and wine. Drawing from a well of strength I didn’t know I had, I add, “I may be an omega, but I’m not some damsel in distress. If Pack Clarke thinks they can just waltz into my life, they have another thing coming.”

Cayenne squeezes my hand, her grip firm and reassuring. “Aria, you are the strongest person I know. No mate bond or pack of alphas can take away who you are unless you let them.”

Ginger nods vigorously, her eyes flashing with protective fire. “Hell yeah, she’s right, and if they try anything, we’ll kick their alpha asses back to the Stone Age.”

I can’t help but laugh at the image of my friends taking on Pack Clarke. It’s like imagining a group of chihuahuas facing off against a pack of wolves—adorable, but probably not effective. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think violence is the answer here.”

“Violence might not be the answer,” Ginger quips, a mischievous glint in her eye, “but a little creative sabotage never hurt anybody. I’m thinking glitter bombs in their fancy alpha cars. It’ll take weeks to get it all out!”

“Maybe not,” Willow says thoughtfully, her expression turning serious, “but knowledge might be.” We all turn to her, waiting for her to elaborate. It’s like we’re in a courtroom drama, and Willow’s about to deliver the key evidence. “In my work with Omega Guardians, I’ve been researching mate bonds. They are powerful, yes, but they are not a life sentence. You have choices, Aria.”

“What kinds of choices?” I ask, leaning forward, desperate for any semblance of control. It’s like I’m drowning, and Willow’s throwing me a lifeline.

Willow explains, her voice taking on a measured, almost professorial tone. “Mate bonds can be accepted or rejected. It isn’t easy to reject one, especially a strong one, but it’s possible, and even if you accepted it, you’d set the terms. The alphas don’t get to dictate how this plays out.” She pauses, meeting my gaze with unwavering support. “Remember, Aria, biology isn’t destiny. You’re more than your omega status, and any alpha worth their salt will see that too.”

Her words settle over me, both terrifying and liberating. I’ve felt like a pawn in a game I never wanted to play, but maybe I’ve been holding more cards than I realized. It’s like I’ve been playing Go Fish when we’re actually in a poker game. “So… what do I do now?”

“You take it one day at a time,” Cayenne says firmly, her confidence a steadying force. “You keep living your life on your terms. If Pack Clarke wants to be a part of that life, then they’ll do it on your schedule, not theirs.” She leans in, a spark of excitement in her eyes. “I have some contacts in the underground omega network. We could dig up some dirt and level the playing field a bit. What do you say, girls? Ready for some espionage?”

My curiosity is piqued, and I can’t help but ask, “Underground omega network? What exactly are we talking about here, Cayenne?” I feel like I’m in a spy movie, and Cayenne’s about to reveal she’s been a secret agent this whole time.

She grins, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Let’s just say it’s a network of omegas who have had enough of society’s bullshit. They share information, resources, and safe houses—everything an omega might need to stay off the grid or fight back against unfair treatment. Some of them are pretty tech savvy too. If there’s dirt on Pack Clarke or Scent Synergy, they’ll find it.”

Ginger chimes in with her usual gusto. “Consider us your personal omega SWAT team. On call twenty-four seven for ass-kicking and ice cream runs.”

Warmth blooms in my chest at their words, a feeling so potent I swear I can smell it. For the first time in days, I feel like I can breathe again. It’s like coming up for air after being underwater for too long. “Thank you,” I whisper, my voice thick with emotion. “I don’t know what I’d do without you all.”

Who needs alphas when I have a pack like this?

We fall into a group hug, and I let myself be held, enveloped by their love and unwavering support. When we finally pull apart, Willow clears her throat, her expression shifting to something more serious.

“There’s… one more thing,” she says hesitantly. “Malachi from Pack Clarke reached out to Omega Guardians. He wants to set up a meeting and talk about collaboration.”

The room goes still, the air thick with unspoken tension. My heart picks up speed, every beat echoing in my ears like a drum solo. The scent of my anxiety spikes, sharp and acrid. “What… What does that mean?”

Willow shrugs, meeting my eyes with a quiet resolve. “I don’t know yet, but I promise, Aria, that nothing will happen without your approval. We’re on your side, always.”

I nod, trying to process this new piece of information. My mind is spinning like a hamster wheel on steroids, but I force myself to take a steadying breath. “Okay,” I say slowly. “Let’s… Let’s cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Cayenne raises her glass once more. “To Aria, turning alpha expectations upside down since… well, always!”

We cheer and clink glasses. As the night wears on, the conversation shifts to lighter topics—gossip, Ginger’s latest escapades, the little joys that make everything feel normal, even if just for a while—but beneath the surface, I know something has changed. My friends aren’t just here for a fun night, they are my lifeline, my protectors, and my pack.

It’s well past midnight when they finally leave, each one giving me a fierce hug before heading out. As I close the door behind them, the quiet of my apartment feels less like solitude and more like peace.

I’m tidying up the wine glasses, the clink of glass against glass a soothing rhythm in the quiet apartment, when my phone buzzes. My heart races as I stare at the screen, an unknown number burning into my retinas like a brand. My fingers hover over the keyboard, trembling slightly as the weight of my next move crashes over me like a wave.

Unknown : I know you probably want to digitally set this message on fire, but I had to reach out. How are you holding up?

Unknown : It’s Malachi.

I stare at the screen, my stomach churning like a washing machine on spin cycle, a knot of tension tightening with each passing second. I wipe my clammy palms on my jeans, trying to steady my shaking hands. A part of me wants to shove the entire mess to the back of my mind and pretend it doesn’t exist, but another part of me is just tired of running.

My mind races with conflicting thoughts. On one hand, Malachi’s deep, commanding voice echoes in my memory, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine. The ghost of his scent—cedar and rain—teases at the edges of my consciousness, but on the other hand, I remember the hurt, betrayal, and fear of that night when my secret was revealed. The memory of Zane’s accusatory glare, Quinn’s shocked expression, and Dash’s uncharacteristic silence all comes rushing back, a surge of emotions threatening to drown me.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I type a response.

Me : Honestly? I’m a mess, but I’m dealing.

Dealing? More like barely keeping my head above water, but he doesn’t need to know that. There’s no need to give him a detailed map of my emotional state.

I hit send before I can second-guess myself, my heart thudding in my chest like it’s trying to escape as I wait. The scent of my nervousness fills the air, a mix of sour oranges and burnt sugar. I don’t know if I’ll regret this in the morning, but for now, it feels like a step—however small—toward reclaiming my life on my own terms.

The first thing I’m going to do tomorrow is figure out just who put my information into Scent Synergy. I smell a rat, and I’m going to find it.

Tonight, I’m going to bed. Even superheroes need their beauty sleep.

As I crawl under the covers, surrounded by the lingering scents of my friends and the comforting softness of my nest, I feel a flicker of something I haven’t felt in a while—hope. That, more than anything, gives me the strength to face another day.

Bring it on, universe. I have wine, friends, and a newfound determination to kick ass and take names.

My phone buzzes again, and against my better judgment, I check it. Curiosity killed the cat, satisfaction brought it back, and all that jazz.

Malachi : I’m glad you’re dealing. We have a lot to talk about, but it can wait. Just know that we’re here when you’re ready. Sleep well, Aria.

I stare at the message, a complex mix of emotions swirling inside me like an emotional smoothie. I feel fear, anger, and confusion, but also a tiny spark of curiosity. What could Malachi possibly have to say? What game is he playing? And why does a part of me yearn to hear his voice and be surrounded by the comforting presence of the pack?

As I drift off, one thought echoes in my mind—am I truly ready to face Pack Clarke, or am I diving headfirst into a game where I don’t know the rules? Whatever tomorrow brings, I know one thing for certain—I’m done being a pawn in someone else’s game. It’s time to become the queen of my own chessboard.

Watch out, world. This omega’s about to make some moves.